Published October 1st, 2013
Description:
“Life doesn’t come with a blueprint, which makes it hard to have any plans.”
Nineteen-year-old Darby Duncan is finally on her own. Her boyfriend of six years just left for a high-powered summer internship, though in reality he’s been absent for much longer than that. This newfound freedom wasn’t a part of Darby’s plans, but as she’s come to discover, plans only exist on paper, not in reality.
And guys like Torin Westbrook aren’t supposed to exist in reality, either. But he does, with his disheveled curly hair, irresistible dimples, and endearingly quirky habit of reciting quotes from classic movies and ancient thinkers. When Darby meets Torin as a fellow counselor at the survival camp she impulsively applies to, she’s certain his main goal is to turn her world upside-down.
But Darby’s not sure she can adapt to Torin’s ways of viewing his past and the tragedies he's faced. Because she’s had her own share of heartache, too, and as much as she wants to believe that it’s all been for a purpose, her grief hasn’t allowed her to get to that point. Yet the more Darby is around Torin, the more she craves the freedom to break out of her carefully constructed routine and mindset and fall into something new.
She’s just not sure that she should be falling for Torin along the way.
Teasers:
“You’ve never flown on a plane?”
“No,” he retorted. “I’ve never had the need,
or the opportunity.”
“We need to see what we can do to change that.”
I’d flown in planes more times than I could count. I couldn’t imagine being
nineteen-years-old and never having seen the earth from a bird’s eye view.
Torin was seriously missing out; from what I knew of him so far, flying would
totally be his thing. Maybe it was my turn to help him with his unknowns.
“Anything else you’ve never done?” I jeered,
intentionally trying to rile him up because I liked what it did to him when he
got flustered.
“I’ve never had sex,” Torin shot out, “but I’m
fairly certain I’m not afraid of that, either.”
Record scratch.
Wait…what?
I tossed the stare from my face quickly and
attempted to reclaim my composure, but it was completely lost. My eyes dropped
to my hands, which had totally mangled our poor cootie catcher. It was nothing
but a crumpled wad of paper in my clenched grasp. Torin pulled it from my
fingers to smooth it out, grinning widely like he was proud that he caught me
off guard, like maybe that was his plan.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t worry,” he smiled, his dimples
deep-set, making something deep within my stomach flip-flop. “Unlike the flying,
I’m not expecting you to ‘see what you can do to change that.’ "
I tried to swallow quietly, but I was certain
he heard it. Like that awkward moment when you watched a movie with your
parents and a full on sex-scene starts up on the screen. It was mortifying—humiliating
on a whole new level. You tried not to move—tried not to even breathe—because
the last thing you wanted was your mom thinking you were actually alive and
watching it. It was like you played dead. Torin’s recent confession sort of
made me want to play dead. I was possum-on-the-side-of-the-highway road kill
and rigor mortis had already set in.
*****************
“Put this on.”
“Where?” I squeaked, reluctantly taking the
red and white polkadot two-piece from his hold. Our fingers brushed and his eyes
caught mine in an unsure glance.
“I don’t know, behind a tree or something.” He
continued digging through my backpack, pulling out all of my clothes and the
blanket crammed inside. He took them to a nearby rock and spread them out onto
its surface like he was a maid with a clothesline and a load of laundry to
finish. I really wished I hadn't fallen in that creek. Everything was soaked.
“I’m not changing out here.” I wrapped my arms
across my chest, humiliation spreading throughout my body. Usually people’s
cheeks turned red when they were embarrassed. I was fairly certain every inch
of my skin was blushing bright pink, rivaling the reddened hue of Porky the
Pig.
Torin cocked his head and thumbed his chin—something
I was beginning to notice he did a lot of—and his dimples eased onto his
cheeks. “You do realize this is a survival
overnighter, don’t you? There are some things you need to let go of for
survival’s sake. Modesty is one of those things.”
“If I remember correctly, yesterday you pretty
much promised me that you’d keep me alive. And I’d like to keep my modesty. I
really don’t want to change into this, Torin.”
He drug his hands through his hair and sighed
my direction, sensing the sincerity in my plea. “Darby, it may currently be
blazing hot out, but tonight it will get down into the 40’s. And as of right
now, you have no dry clothes to sleep in and your overnight blanket is full of
about ten pounds of water. You’ve run out of options.”
I pinched my lips together. What I wouldn’t
give to be lounging on the couch back at the rental with Sonja, getting fat with
our beer and our Cheetos. Even the hope of visiting Lance didn’t make any of
this worthwhile. I sort of wished Torin would have just let me float out there
in the river a bit longer. Maybe I would have passed out and drowned. That
would be slightly less humiliating than what I feared was in store for me at
this summer camp.
“At least turn around.”
Torin looked up at me from the granite slab
where he’d arranged my clothes. “What?”
“Please turn around. No peeking.”
He shook his head and returned his focus to
his work. “I’m not gonna peek. Off limits.”
“I'm off limits?”
He stepped back and surveyed the spread of
fabric, then moved a pair of my socks so they didn’t overlap with the t-shirt
underneath. “Off limits. Taken.” His pale eyes pulled up to mine. “And even if
you weren’t, you’re not really my type, Darby.”
Insult sucker-punched me in the gut. “Geez,” I
murmured, feeling the hurtful sting of his comment. “Then by all means, please
stare away. Take pictures if you like.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Torin stepped back
from the rock and fiddled with his belt. Before I could register what he was
doing, he’d unzipped his fly and was down to his boxers, pulling one leg, then
the other from his cargo shorts. My throat went dry and I tried hard to
swallow, but it was all sandpaper and it scratched my tongue. Where did his
pants go? And why was I staring at his underwear that was covered in hundreds
of yellow smiley faces, repeated over and over in a dizzying, disorienting
pattern? Seriously, why were his boxers smiling at me?
About the author:
Megan Squires lives with her husband and two children just outside of Sacramento, California. A graduate from the University of California, Davis, Megan is now a full-time mother, wife, and dreamer—though her characters don’t often give her much opportunity to sleep.
Visit her to learn more about her latest young adult series:
Author's Giveaway
1 comment:
Draguta coperta.
Sunt atatea carti,care ar merita publicate si la noi <3.
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